


To Love a Star

by Caelucere



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Angst, Bittersweet, F/M, Unrequited Love, maybe a bit of angst?, yeah we'll go with angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-07-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 18:07:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 17,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6481360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caelucere/pseuds/Caelucere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nine years after leaving Paris, Adrien returns to attend a former classmate's wedding - and, hopefully, finally be able to confess his longstanding feelings for Ladybug. But time changes everything. As he discovers, it may have altered more more than he could have ever imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. City of Lights

**Author's Note:**

> So I used to be a super hardcore fanfiction writer back in the day, but I sort of stopped writing fanfiction and started focussing on original projects. Except I got this idea and it's only going to be around 5 chapters at most I assume, so it seemed doable and since I'm ridiculously obsessed with this fandom I had to contribute in some way.  
> This is kind of a set-up chapter? A prologue to the rest? Idk I just wrote then stopped when it seemed reasonable.

_You are cordially invited to the wedding of_

_M Lucien Bonheur_

_and_

_Mlle Marinette Dupain-Cheng_

Adrien only skim read the rest of the invitation, vaguely clocking details such as the date and the location. What really stood out to him as if the light caught those particular silvery gilded letters especially was the second name, and he could hardly tear his eyes off it.

Even if her name had not been on it, he would have known who the bride was – the whole invite just radiated _Marinette_. She had evidently been the one to design it, and it was accentuated with her trademark cute yet simple design, the kind of sophisticated blend of elegance and adorableness that seemed to be entirely unique to her. Flowers of all kinds were etched onto the edges, delicate leaves unfurling across the page with tiny butterflies and bees flitting between them, and the more he pored over the piece of paper, the more hidden swirling Ms he saw, the Ms that had stamped almost every possession of hers, that she had doodled thousands of onto the edge of her notebooks.

Adrien had not seen Marinette for years, and yet looking at that paper it was like she was right there with him.

That was his dominant first thought. His second was disbelief at the fact that Marinette was getting married, which was almost as much of a slap to the face as when he heard through the grapevine more commonly referred to as Nino that the little girl Marinette and Alya used to babysit had gone to university, or when he saw images of Ivan and Myléne proudly posing with their first child. It was one of those double slaps to the face that stung one cheek with _Look at how old you all are now!_ and the other with _Everyone else is moving on and making progress in their lives and what the hell have you achieved?_

Of course, on paper, Adrien Agreste had achieved an awful lot. He was now not only modelling for his father’s brand, but he was one of the leading representatives of its Milanese branch, that also being the city where he currently lived in a rather exquisite apartment. Admittedly it was a city that was perhaps too quiet for Chat Noir’s liking (the superhero persona itself also being pretty high up on the _Stuff Adrien Agreste has Achieved_ list), if for nobody else’s, but at least in adulthood and in a different city he was partially released from his father’s smothering grip. Adrien Agreste still had his face on every magazine, was still the prince of a fashion empire, and was invited to every high-society party in one of the world’s fashion hubs.

But every time he was reminded that the world had moved on, that his favourite childhood movie was now almost twenty years old, that his classmates were currently having kids while he was still mainly working the exact same job at twenty-seven as he’d had since before puberty, he felt like everything that he could write on paper and claim was an achievement was in fact pointless.

For some reason, however, the invitation surprised him. Firstly because he’d never really expected Marinette to be one of the first to marry (he’d actually hoped that Alya and Nino’s on/off relationship would stabilise beforehand, if only because as much as he liked his high school best friend he was getting quite frankly sick of Skype calls that were more long rants than anything else). And secondly because he’d never heard of this mysterious Lucien Bonheur.

It was only reasonable, of course. Very few people stayed with their high school sweethearts into their twenties, and even fewer married. But for some reason it seemed so bizarre for Marinette to now be marrying a total stranger. At fourteen, the circle of their classmates (plus one speckled superheroine, he might add) had seemed like the entire world’s worth of suitors. The dates one went on at fourteen had felt like they would define their lives. At fourteen you would doodle your crush’s name, mashed with yours (Adrien Bug hadn’t quite worked, admittedly) in your notebook and consider it a serious commitment. Then, at twenty-seven, one would find out that one’s classmate was marrying someone who they had never heard of before and all of that crushing and blushing felt entirely irrelevant.

Adrien re-read the invitation for what felt like the fifth time. He was flattered that Marinette had thought to invite him, although he supposed that she had probably sent invitations to all of her former schoolfriends. Nino and Alya would have been invited for certain. All the same it was surprising that she had invited him of all people, considering what had gone down between the two of them-

No, no, he wouldn’t dwell on that.

He simply made the note in his calendar. All else aside, a trip to Paris sounded fun right now. Well, in a few months’ time it would be fun, but at the moment it stood as something to look forward to.

Yet there was a nagging teenage part of him, one that he knew he would never grow out of but had falsely assumed to have matured to be slightly less rash and impulsive, that began to flutter excitedly at the thought of returning to his home city. Because Paris meant Ladybug and in that unchanged portion of his being that name was still synonymous with feelings of adoration, the kind of contented pining that perhaps was intrinsically part of how Adrien Agreste loved; or maybe it was simply that he had been missing her over the years. Not that the two were mutually exclusive.

Maybe the separation had strengthened the infatuation. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, it is said, and if his fondness for Ladybug had been immense at the time of their separation then by that logic it must have magnified to insane proportions during their time apart, when their only communication was when he could swear that the smile she occasionally flashed at the TV cameras was especially for him, when he really did believe that they made eye contact through the screen.

Of course, it would be preposterous for Adrien to confess that he loved a girl who he hadn’t seen in around nine years and who he still didn’t know the name of.

But he’d be lying if he said that he didn’t.

* * *

 

Adrien had to give it to Nino. Throughout their teenage years his best friend had been consistently disorganised in every aspect of his academic life – Adrien was pretty sure he’d missed more homework deadlines than he’d ever met, and by a considerable margin – but when it came to social arrangements and anything else that he was actually interested in, Nino was a ruthlessly efficient scheduler who even gave Nathalie Sancouer a run for her money. In years of DJ work, the boy had never missed a gig, never even turned up late to one. So when Adrien had messaged him saying that he was going to be in Paris for the week of Marinette’s wedding and that it would be cool to meet up, the reply had been a date, a time and a venue within what must have been ten minutes. Nino was just fortunate that it didn’t clash with any other commitments, although by some miracle Adrien had been given the whole week off with only two scheduled meetings to justify the trip.

His father had offered to send someone to pick him up from the airport and take him to the Agreste mansion, but Adrien had declined and Gabriel had obviously concluded that if he could trust his twenty-seven year old son to live in another city the boy could stay in Paris on his own. Neither actually mentioned the reason why he didn’t want to go to the mansion. Just the thought of the silent, empty shell of a home recalled feelings of childhood isolation that Adrien wasn’t too keen on reliving unless necessary. Besides, he had a meeting with his father there the next day.

The thought was making him somewhat downcast as he streamed along with the crowd outside the doors of Charles De Gaulle airport, and for once good fortune was smiling down upon him.

More specifically, Ladybug was smiling down on him. Albeit from a billboard.

It was huge, right outside the airport and completely unmissable. Ladybug stood beaming next to giant lettering welcoming visitors to Paris and guaranteeing their safety. She had her hands on her hips and the kind of brave defiance in her eye that he couldn’t help but freeze and stare at.

“Oh, _please_ don’t tell me you’re fawning over a billboard.” His kwami best friend grumbled, peeking out from Adrien’s collar (he’d refused to go in the hand luggage compartment) to fix his chosen with an irritated glare that the model instantly shot back as he prodded the cat creature back into hiding.

“Of course I’m not.” He hissed. “It’s just-“

“She’s grown up? Thought you would have noticed that by-“

His words were lost to muffled protestations as Adrien shoved Plagg deeper into his jacket. Of course it wasn’t a surprise – he’d watched enough news reports on Ladybug to know that she was a woman now, rather than the teenage girl he’d known. But when she was blown to a huge scale the changes were so much more noticeable; those wider hips, the change from pigtails to a French braid, the filling out of her figure from adolescence to adulthood. And there was a deeper maturity too. She had always been confident and strong, but there was a self-assurance now that sprang from experience and seemed to radiate even from her image. It brought back the feeling that he used to get just from being next to her; the sense that he could take on anything and anyone, throw himself headlong into the most dangerous of situations and do the most absurd actions because it was her plan and he could always trust her to save the day.

He might have stood there for longer, gawking at the board like an idiot if a kid’s Trunki hadn’t almost knocked his legs out from behind him.

* * *

 

It was five in the morning when Adrien finally gave up.

The moment he had gotten into a hotel room of his own he’d thrown his possessions onto the bed, transformed and rushed out of the window and onto the rooftops of Paris with barely a second’s rest. It wasn’t necessarily overly eager of him, he assured himself. But he remembered clearly Monday night was a patrol night and that meant that Ladybug would be somewhere out there, along one of their well-trodden patrol routes, and he wasn’t about to hedge his bets on a convenient akuma attack happening that week to see her again.

When he had told her that he had to leave Paris, he’d been surprised by how upset she was. Not that he thought he didn’t matter to her, because even if she didn’t love him there was an unspoken bond between them that was far more lasting. The sense of being two halves of one heroic whole; being able to communicate without even words or a look, just being so intrinsically in tune that he knew that she would always catch him when he fell and she knew he would carry out any of her plans to the syllable. Adrien could live without his love for Ladybug, but their partnership was what made him whole. Even when he was living in Milan, when time and distance separated them, it was a warming comfort. When he saw her on TV or the internet, he felt just a little bit more complete than before.

It hadn’t been about the akumas. Ladybug had proven herself more than capable of tackling akumas without his help, although not without some extra hardship. She didn’t _need_ him, per se, but she had chosen to stick with him even though she could go alone, and now he was choosing to leave.

 _“I’ll return.”_ He had promised, placing his hands on her shoulders. Her head had been bowed, and when the shoulders beneath his touch began shaking he had felt his stomach sink and wanted nothing more than to draw her into a hug and never let go.

But she hadn’t given him the opportunity. She’d looked up, chuckles mixed with sobs and bluebell eyes shining from the extra tears. It was strange, actually. Paris was the city of lights, but as far as he was concerned they were all condensed into one mysterious, quick-witted and sometimes downright frustrating girl.

She’d smiled, however. _“You totally blew that chance for a Terminator reference.”_ Ladybug had managed to say before she was the one to hug him, fiercely. Because they were Ladybug and Chat Noir, creation and destruction, the good luck and the bad and every other balancing pair that he could ever call to mind. They were part of each other and even if she didn’t love him, she’d miss him. She never said it, but that embrace was all he needed.

And he missed her. Oh boy, he’d never missed her more than he did now. It was late spring in Paris, melting into summer, but at this time of night that didn’t stop the chill from seeping in. He’d become accustomed to the balmy weather of Italy, and now the cold was only intensifying his sense of disappointment.

Adrien had started by following their regular patrol route, but even as he speed ran it he didn’t see so much as a glimpse of red and black polka-dots. Which was fine. After all, running the same routes for nine years would be ridiculous. Things had to adjust to circumstances. Ladybug had probably found a more efficient route, or added an extra location that had somehow been missed out before. She was an intelligent woman, that made sense.

But hours spent combing the city produced nothing. Not at all.

It was 5:30 AM when Adrien finally got back to his hotel room and collapsed on his bed, an exhausted Plagg flying out of his ring to land with a soft thump on one of the ridiculously fluffy pillows. The feline was preparing for a tirade when he caught sight of the model’s half-exhausted, half-downcast demeanour, and so he instead settled for a simple statement.

“Maybe she just doesn’t patrol on Mondays anymore.”

That thought plagued Adrien long after Plagg had drifted off, even though he really needed to sleep because he knew he had that meetup with Nino the next day and he certainly wasn’t about to turn up crabby and sleep-deprived to something that he had literally been looking forward to for months.

But for some reason, the thought that Ladybug didn’t patrol on Mondays anymore was like a blow to the gut.

 _Things change_ was the explanation, a clear and simple one that it would be futile to argue with. Yet that didn’t help him to sleep.


	2. Paris, Promises and Jam Jars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adrien is a gushy romantic cliché, as per usual.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I actually wasn't going to update too frequently, but I read so many encouraging comments that I ended up writing this chapter way faster than intended? I have a feeling that it's slightly rushed but to be honest I'm just satisfied that I'm finally doing something with this idea. So thank you to everyone to commented, kudos'd etc. for your support!

Adrien did not sleep well at all for a variety of reasons, some rational and others entirely emotional. When he woke up to the sound of an obnoxiously buzzing alarm, he couldn’t quite remember exactly what his dreams that night had consisted of; all he knew was that they put him in a downcast mood to start the day, as did the reminder that popped up on his phone that he had a meeting with his father that afternoon.

“What’s with the sour face?” Plagg asked, perching on the side of the sink as Adrien was brushing his teeth, looking up from his camembert. His chosen spat out his toothpaste before wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“That sour smell. Can’t you eat that somewhere else?”

“You’ve been dealing with my cheese for years now. You’re sulking because-“

Okay, so tipping his kwami into the sink and then laughing as the cat screeched when making contact with the water wasn’t exactly the most mature of actions that Adrien could have taken, but it was certainly a satisfying one, and it actually lifted his mood in a totally childish way. He reached under the faucet to pluck Plagg out, who proceeded to shake himself dry and flick water in the model’s face before wriggling himself free and floating over to a towel.

“Alright, if you want to pretend you’re _not_ wallowing in self-pity then that’s fine by me. Just don’t bring that attitude to Nino today.”

That reminder was what really raised Adrien’s spirits, however, replacing his irritated frown with a goofy smile that spread before he could even stop it and remember that he was supposed to be annoyed with his kwami. Nino! In the flesh and not on Skype! The very thought was what finally dispelled the rainclouds that had been hovering over him since the previous night.

It wasn’t like he was lonely in Milan. On the contrary, he had quite the plethora of acquaintances all vying for his attention, and a few he even knew well enough to call friends. But none of them were quite the same as his goofball best friend. It wasn’t just that Nino was Adrien’s first friend (sans Chloé), but that he was easily one of the handful of people in the world that Adrien felt completely comfortable to be himself around. Part of it was just the kind of casual approach to the life that Nino took which rubbed off on Adrien himself and encouraged him not to take anything too seriously – and okay, this laidback attitude wasn’t always the best nor the most productive to have, but it had certainly been a breath of fresh air for teenage Adrien and still was for his adult self. So even the thought of a three hour meeting with Gabriel Agreste couldn’t dampen this new-found cheer that emerged with the thought of seeing Nino again, and it was almost completely dispelled when Adrien opened the curtains.

Paris was a beautiful city at any time of the year, but spring was something special. During summer, the city was baking; in winter, it was bitterly cold. But in the spring the breeze was crisp with just a kiss of warmth, the trees bloomed into vivid greens and pinks and every other colour he could think of, and the whole city throbbed with the kind of life that seemed entirely unique to his home city. Nino, Ladybug and Paris, those were the three things that Adrien had missed most. A morning like this made him wonder why he’d ever made the decision to leave.

 _You’ll find her._ The city promised him as he opened the window and allowed the clean air to whoosh into his stuffy room. And with his newly-blossomed optimism, he didn’t doubt it. They were a natural pairing, and whether the circumstances catered for it or not they would inevitably come together. Nine years had changed a lot, but that link was something unbreakable, like the miraculous themselves that had continued to protect and fight for centuries.

So he didn’t worry that she didn’t patrol on Mondays anymore. He wouldn’t even mind if she didn’t patrol on Tuesdays or Wednesdays or any other day of the week. He’d find her. Paris had promised him, and he had promised himself.

* * *

Nino had chosen the same café that they’d visited all the time as teenagers, on days when he didn’t have his schedule booked out. It had only been a five minute walk from their school, overlooking the nearby park, and the owner had come to know the schoolchildren, would give them special discounts or sneak a second muffin onto their plate even if they’d only paid for the one.

Or at least, that’s what it had been. A different sign stood over the door now, _Café de Madeleine_ now replaced with _Chouette et Confiture_ (which was a bizarre café name if he’d ever read one), and as Adrien looked through the windows in bewilderment he saw that the entire décor had changed. It was more modern, more trendy, the kind of place that served all of its drinks in jam jars and had lighting fixtures made out of translucent Lego bricks. Which wasn’t a bad thing, necessarily, but a marked difference to the simplicity of the place that he used to visit. He looked down at his map again, and at the address sent by Nino, both of which confirmed that this was the very same place.

It also reminded him that he was ten minutes early. It seemed that Adrien had been so desperate to not be late for the meetup that he’d gone quite in the opposite direction – which, all things considered, wasn’t the worst of outcomes.

The former owner wasn’t behind the counter when he went up. Instead there was a young woman with her hair dip-dyed in pastel colours, tied up in a messy bun who flashed him a bright smile as he tentatively ordered hot apple juice and cinnamon (as obliged as he felt to sustain his modelling diet, a kale, quinoa and celery smoothie touted as the superfood fanatic’s dream sounded like sadness and suffering in a jam jar). And she didn’t add in anything extra, although she did make some small talk before turning to the next customer.

He chose a booth next to the window, making sure that there was enough room for three in case Nino had decided to bring Alya with him. The two were always being pulled in different directions by their careers – Nino being busy all night with DJ gigs and Alya being busy all day with her journalism. They held together, though, through some surreal miracle which Adrien could only imagine to be love, although they tested each other’s patience far more than one would call normal for a couple. One Skype call, Nino would be gushing about how his girlfriend had exposed some corrupt corporation in her latest article and how she was the smartest and most fearless girl he’d ever known, and wasn’t he lucky to have her. The next, he’d complain for ten minutes that Alya had verbally assaulted him for not doing the dishes. It was actually amusing for Adrien, in an odd way, although he frequently had to remind himself that he was hardly one to comment on relationships.

It wasn’t like he’d been single for all of his life. A few dates with fellow models or designers here and there, even a relationship that lasted almost six months. But they never came to anything. Fell apart, lost interest, work getting in the way, too busy crushing on a superheroine – the usual reasons, nothing to write home about. No, he thought, sipping his drink that definitely had something a bit funkier than apple and cinnamon in it, he definitely couldn’t criticise Nino and Alya. They bickered, but they were still by each other’s sides long after they’d left school. Nino and Alya, Ivan and Myléne, the two class couples who had somehow lasted.

“Yo! Earth to Agreste!”

_Speak of the devil – or devils…_

Adrien jumped as a hand slammed down on the table, almost knocking over the measuring jug that served as storage for sugar cubes with its force, and in a bewildered state followed the hand up an arm that turned out to belong to none other than Alya Césaire herself, with her boyfriend hovering beside her.

In contrast to seemingly everything else in the world, Alya hadn’t changed much. She was slightly taller, her clothing perhaps a bit smarter, maybe with a smidge more eyeliner – but she was still very much the same Alya that he had gone to school with, as the smile that spread out across her face clearly indicated. Meanwhile, now that he was seeing Nino in person rather than on a screen, it was obvious that he too had grown. He was still pretty lanky by most standards, but nothing like the frankly scrawny, gawky teen he had been. The DJ flashed his friend a crooked smile.

“You were totally zoned out there! We were waving at the window, like, two feet away and you barely noticed us.”

Adrien could only laugh in embarrassment and rub his neck with the back of his hand. “I, uh, was thinking.”

“What a surprise.” Alya replied dryly, shuffling into the seat across from them as Nino plopped himself next to Adrien in order to throw an arm around his shoulders. That casual familiarity was astounding, and briefly confusing, before he remembered that this was Nino who wouldn’t let a little thing like nine years of separation lead to any kind of awkwardness. “How’s Paris treating you?”

“It’s… different.” He replied, flashing a glance at the Lego light fixture above them. “Stuff’s changed.”

“Duh!” Was Nino’s response. “Nine years does that, you know. Whereas if you’d come back _before now_ -“

“I wanted to!” Adrien shot back, almost offended. “But work keeps me busy and normally I-“

“No, no, we get it.” Alya interjected, flashing a warning look at her partner. “Life gets in the way sometimes. Hell, we were surprised that you could even come back this week, considering you’re running a fashion empire.”

“Well, _I’m_ not running it.” He corrected her. “I’m just helping to represent a branch of it, doing a bit of administration work. It’s still mostly modelling.”

“We can see that. Your Pops still plasters your face all over the city.”

Adrien didn’t know how to respond to that, so he just bit his lip and sipped his jazzy apple juice. Of course he was still the main face of the Agreste brand, but the idea of still being all over Paris did feel discomforting. But then again, he was a brand label, just as much as the butterfly was.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Alya shoot Nino a chastising glare. Almost immediately the young man leaned over and sniffed at his drink, prompting Adrien to veer back in surprise.

“Dude, what the heck is this?”

“Apple juice. With – stuff in it.”

“Hipster juice?” Nino asked, eyebrow raised. Alya giggled from across the table.

“Essentially, yes. But without the kale.”

The conversation continued into discussions of anything and everything that could have possibly eluded them before – Nino’s latest DJ ventures, a healthy dose of boasting about Alya’s investigative exploits, whether or not Adrien had plans for the rest of the week, how warm it was in Italy compared to Paris, more small talk about the café’s aesthetic and where the heck the _chouette_ in the name came into play. Every semblance of separation melted. It was like being in school again, sat at the front of the class, with chatter flowing freely like it had never done before.

That was until Nino trailed off mid story about the possibility of an approaching school reunion when he noticed Alya checking her phone, a frown of annoyance forming on her face.

“What’s wrong?”

Alya sighed and rolled her eyes, putting her phone away again. “She’s late.”

“Are you sure you told her the right time?”

 _Bad idea, bro._ Adrien thought, almost wincing at the daggers in Alya’s eyes that looked ready to fly at her boyfriend. “Yes, _I told her the right time_.” She hissed. “I mean, I expected her to be maybe five minutes late, but this is excessive even for her!”

“Who?” Adrien asked without even thinking, despite having decided only a moment before that he wouldn’t interject in their bickering. Alya’s eyes flicked over to him in disbelief before turning back to Nino with double the annoyance.

“You didn’t tell him?”

“It, uh, it slipped my min-“

At that moment, Nino was saved when someone came bustling over to their table, releasing a stream of mostly incomprehensible apologies stunted with shallow breaths, and Adrien’s first thought was that it must have been the waitress apologising for the fact that Alya and Nino must have been waiting for at least fifteen minutes for their coffee by now. What he wasn’t expecting was to look up and see the face of Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Contrary to Alya, Marinette had changed so drastically that were it not for the unmistakeable blue topaz of her eyes and the smattering of faded freckles across her nose he might have had trouble recognising her. As it was, however, he knew in an instant who it was. She was still small, but whilst she had not grown in height her figure certainly wasn’t unaltered, having matured like her fashion sense. Cute pigtails had given way to a sophisticated French braid, held in place by red barrettes that managed to strike some kind of middle ground between girlish and chic. She was dressed in a striped navy and white top with a bright red high-waisted shorts and charcoal coloured blazer – not exactly a crazy combination, but the kind of simplistic one that befitted her own style. Her face was flushed, probably from exertion, and her makeup slightly smudged for the very same reason. But she lit up upon seeing Alya, who instantly jumped to her feet to envelop the girl in a hug, and seeing the way her smile seemed to release some internal sunshine left no doubt in his mind that this girl was his former classmate.

(As he watched the two embrace his eye was also drawn to the glint of a silver ring on her finger, but he decided not to stare at that for too long.)

“So,” Alya started, drawing away but keeping her hands on her friend’s shoulders. “What kind of wondrous bullshit excuse do you have this time?”

Marinette pouted, folding her arms. “I have a perfectly good reason, thank you very much?”

“Like what? Did you manage to lock yourself in a toilet _again?_ ” Of course, Alya was a journalist. Marinette would never be allowed an easy way out.

“Okay, so my client cancelled this morning, so I had some free time,” She started. “So I thought that I’d make Lucien some lunch, just as a treat, since I didn’t really have anything else to do – I mean, I could start on a commission but I’d run out of thread the night before and I really didn’t feel like going to buy some more. Anyway, so I make this lunch and head over to deliver it, but the receptionist tells me that he’s busy, so I decide to wait for a bit. So after I’ve been waiting for twenty minutes I ask again and she checks in and apparently he’s run into some kind of complication, and I say that I’ll keep waiting. Except after waiting for another ten minutes I realise that I’m meant to be here. So I end up just leaving it with a note at reception and trying to run here as fast as I can, which obviously wasn’t very fast since I’m late but in my defence I just got these shoes and I’m starting to get blisters and-“

“Woah, deep breath, girl.” Alya interrupted. “How about you sit down while I order you something to drink?”

“No, no, it’s fine, I’ll do it.” Marinette replied, rooting around in her bag for a purse. “You’re already doing so much for me that paying for my own lemonade is the least I can do.”

“Aww, come on, you don’t owe us!” Nino cut in cheerfully. “Consider free DJ-ing as a gift for all those years that I forgot your birthday.”

“You mean every year?” Marinette replied with a giggle. “Still, Alya always remem-“

She trailed off when her gaze, which had been focussed on Nino, noticed the person next to him. Marinette stared at Adrien, her expression shifting from surprise to confusion to excitement in the space of about three seconds. Her face was still flushed, he noticed. She was still trying to catch her breath, and he was still trying to remember how to draw his own.

He’d been sort of dreading this. After all, Marinette had every right to-

“How now Agreste, why did nobody tell me that you’d be here?” She said with a teasing lilt, her mouth twisting into a crooked smile as she sat herself opposite him, next to Alya. “Gosh, sorry, I forgot to say hi, didn’t I? Hi.” Marinette held out a hand.

He didn’t take it for several seconds – he could hardly think enough to move a muscle for what would have been a palpably embarrassing stretch of time, had he not been preoccupied with his own surprise. Not just because of how he felt physically wounded by how grown-up this new Marinette was, and by that slightly mischievous smile, but because he could hardly comprehend how comfortable she seemed to be around him. Where had that awkwardness gotten to? It was gone, at least on her side.

On his, it was present enough that she’d almost withdrawn her hand by the time he took it in his. Her hands were not smooth and soft, like in romantic novels. They had nicks and cuts from scissors, from needles, from stray pins she’d taken her eyes off for too long. They were the hands of a seamstress, and he hadn’t expected anything else. She must have used moisturiser that smelled like peaches, and the scent was intoxicating, totally overriding the cinnamon and apple scent wafting from his drink. He had so many new details to take in and they all stuck in his mind as he attempted to bring his mental image of Marinette up to date with the real thing sat before him, smiling politely despite obvious apprehension at how odd his demeanour was.

Adrien had always found that to be the best thing about Marinette – the more you paid attention, the more you discovered to appreciate, so much that one was under the impression that she had an infinite supply of hidden qualities within her. She, like Ladybug, was a person of possibility, of innumerable promise.

And she was currently looking very concerned as he gawked down at her hands without letting them go.

Realising that he was acting like a complete freak, Adrien raised his head and smiled cordially as he let her hands go. “Sorry! I- uh- I didn’t get much sleep, so I kind of just-“ he gestured vaguely (and could _definitely_ hear Plagg sniggering from inside his shirt collar), but she nodded.

“Phased out? Trust me, I know the feeling. Like, I was up all night working-“

“Marinette!” Alya cut in sharply. “I thought we promised no all-nighters this week.”

The young woman rolled her eyes. “This was a special exception! I had to get the dresses finished.”

 _“And I was busy looking for Ladybug”_ would not be an acceptable response for Adrien to make. Fortunately for him, Alya spoke before he had to.

“No pink, right?”

Silence. Adrien watched as Marinette bit her lip and traced circles on the table with her fingernail.

“Oh my god Marinette.” Alya continued. “ _Please_ tell me that they’re not pink.”

“It was either that or mint, and that doesn’t go with-“

“I said no to the pink!”

“You said no to the coral, the rose and the salmon!” Marinette protested. “Really, they’re hardly pink at all – they’re almost white, really.”

Alya still huffed. “They’d better not clash with the-“

“No, no, trust me, they don’t-“

Nino leaned over to Adrien in order to whisper in his ear. “Alya’s essentially her wedding planner and she’s – well, let’s just say she’s being very Alya about it.” Somehow, that was the perfect descriptor, and Adrien made sure to offer his friend an appropriate sympathetic look. What he didn’t feel the need to offer was his observation that Alya’s obsession with her friend’s wedding was probably a clear indicator of something else entirely.

“Anyway!” Marinette folded her arms assertively. “The dresses are made and they’re a really pale blush pink and I’m not spending another all-nighter on them so you’re just going to have to deal with it.”

Alya didn’t wave any white flag, but the terse sip she gave of her coffee may as well have been one. They were best friends, always had been and always would be, and Adrien doubted that their friendship had seriously fractured in any way (for if it had been, what hope was there for the rest of humanity?). It was just the stress, probably, and all bred out of good intentions – Alya wanted Marinette to have the perfect wedding, even if that did bring the two into conflict. If anything, it was a sign of how much they cherished each other.

Either way, the nudge that Nino gave him was a cue for Adrien to blurt out the first question that came to mind.

“So how did you and Lucien meet?”

 _Good going kitten, cut straight to the chase_ was what Plagg would have said, albeit probably with heavy overtones of sarcasm. However, it seemed to do the trick, because Marinette’s expression went from a slightly guilty scowl to an excited smile.

“Oh, of course, you two haven’t met, have you? Well, I know that Nino and Alya know this, but…”

“Go on, go on.” Nino quickly interjected before the conversation could steer in another direction.

“Well,” Marinette started, tracing a fingertip around the ring of her lemonade jam jar, “It’s actually a really embarrassing story. On my part. As per usual.” She took a sip of the drink before continuing. “Okay, so one night I realise I’ve got a commission to finish for the next day, and it’s nine in the evening and I know it’s going to take me hours, so I gear up for a late night. And I realise that I’m out of hamster food, and I’ve got barely anything in the kitchen, but I really don’t have time to go and buy anything so I just kind of dumped some cereal in his bowl and kept on working.”

This story wasn’t exactly sounding like one’s typical meet cute.

“Anyway, so it’s two in the morning when I finish and I’m about to go to bed when I notice that Baie’s cage smells funky. Like, _really_ funky. Because he’s gone and vomited all over the place. And I panic because I didn’t even Google if hamsters can eat Frosties – I mean, what if they had too much sugar? And I’m really tired and I don’t know what to do so I call the vet at two in the morning crying and saying I’ve poisoned my hamster.” The whole story was told with liberal hand gestures, so emphatic that Adrien worried Marinette would knock her lemonade over.

However, at that point she seemed to settle slightly, smiling in that completely natural way that was still as adorable as it had been when she was fourteen. “And you know what? I manage to get through to the vet’s personal phone, and even though it’s the middle of the night he tells me he can meet me at the clinic in half an hour. And when I get there he calms me down, takes a look and tells me that it’s just because the hamster overate. I’d dragged him out of bed at ridiculous-o’clock because I was an idiot who overfed my hamster, but he wasn’t even irritated. He was just so – well, patient. And decent. And he even offered to give me a lift home so that I wouldn’t have to walk back in the dark.”

She seemed so caught up in her tale, so utterly content with the memory, that the thought of interrupting hardly crossed Adrien’s mind, so transfixed was he with her expression of pure happiness. However, Nino seemed to have no such preoccupations, for her he cut in. “By the way Adrien, Lucien’s the vet.”

“Oh!” Marinette seemed to snap out of her train of thought with a jolt. “Did I not mention that? That was kind of important, huh? Well, uh, yeah. He is a vet. He is _the_ vet. I don’t mean the vet as in, like, he’s some kind of supervet, but I mean he’s-“

“We get it, Mari.” Alya said, clapping a warm hand on her friend’s shoulder. “Okay, why don’t you carry on?”

“Well,” the dark haired woman shrugged. “There’s nothing much else to say, really. I started taking Baie to the vet the moment he so much as sniffled, and Lucien knew that I was making excuses but he didn’t seem to mind. And it just – well, it was all organic, really, from that poi-“

Her speech gave way to a surprised squeak as a giant toothbrush was sent hurtling into the window, inches away from her face. Adrien covered his head with his hands in preparation for the shattering glass, but for once his bad luck seemed to have been cancelled out by good fortune; the giant plastic weapon instead embedded itself in the glass. There was a moment of silence in the café, with only some obscure 60’s song playing faintly in the background. Utter stillness as everyone realised what was happening.

And then there was chaos.

The four scrambled out of the booth, just as the word “akuma” erupted as a cry from seemingly every patron of the café. It was so loud that Adrien could hardly hear the screech of the akuma in question berating them all for their sinful sugar intake, could only just make out the sound of Alya’s shock as she realised that Marinette had disappeared from her side. His head was swirling, rushing, pulsating with the sensation that was all too familiar yet now returned more dramatic and exciting than ever before. He'd almost forgotten with what stunning speed these attacks happened, the suddenness, how quickly everything happened. And as scary as that was, he couldn't help but love it.

Adrenaline coursed through every facet of his being. This was his chance to finally be a superhero again, and it was simultaneously terrifying and intoxicating, most of all due to the whispered promise that cut under the noise in his thoughts.

_You’ll find her._

He managed to yell, above the panic, that he was going to find Marinette and make sure that she was safe, and was pushing his way out of the building before either of his companions could voice their discontent. And then he was running, down the nearest alley, with all the built up anticipation of nine years welling in his chest, crying so fervently for release he thought that he might just burst with exhilaration.

“You sure you’re not rusty, kid?” Plagg asked with a yawn, floating almost nonchalantly out into the open the moment he stopped. “Whatever. I was getting bored anyway.”

Adrien could only grin as he held up a fist, ring that had not fulfilled its proper duty for so long glinting in the sunlight as he said those two words that symbolised freedom, infinite possibility, innumerable promises that were so close to fulfilment.

“Claws out!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact, I literally got the café name from here and translated it into French -> http://www.hipsterbusiness.name/  
> Also, end notes are currently doing weird things for me so I'll just??? go with the flow I guess.


	3. Sweetest Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L A D Y N O I R  
> (also some delightful puns)

Being Chat Noir had always given Adrien a rush, a feeling like he was in a freefall that was entirely liberating. It was the same now, only so much sweeter. Any transformations over the last few years (with the exception of his hunt for Ladybug the previous night) had been mainly for small outbursts of vigilante justice – catching a mugger, spying on corrupt business owners, that sort of thing – more because he was itching to put on the suit again than for any other purpose. But this was different. There was an akuma raining fresh and minty hell down on Paris as he slipped back into a role that was all so familiar and lifted his spirits high, high into the sky, above the clouds and into the infinite space beyond.

_Step one: survey the scene._

Adrien bit his lip as he looked up at the walls that surrounded him, searching for any handholds. How did he do this again? He used to scale these buildings all the time, used to be as lithe and nimble as his namesake, used to not even think about clawing his way up the Eiffel tower or leaping from Notre Dame. But now, in the heat of the moment, he was becoming acutely aware that nine years was a pretty long time to get rusty in. He’d kept up fencing still, to keep fit for modelling, so he’d still be able to fight with the staff-

The staff. Of course, that’s how he did it. Had Plagg been there, he would have been subjected to complete and utter ridicule.

One staff-lift later and he was on the roof tiles, padding across to see the scene around the park. In the centre, on top of a fountain and with his giant toothbrush now slung over his shoulder like some sort of hygienic mace, toothpaste tube under the other, was the akuma in question – a dentist, by the looks of things, and one who was in a decidedly rotten mood. The entire park was covered in the gooey paste, and the smell of it was almost nauseating by how strong it was. He was looking around like a hawk before fixing his gaze on an ice cream van at the other side of the park.

“No cavities escape Toothache!”

(Oh, he’d almost forgotten how lame Hawk Moth’s akuma naming was.)

He charged, toothbrush at the ready, and it suddenly occurred to Adrien that the van was likely to have someone in it.

Fortunately, however, that thought had occurred to someone else long beforehand; a red blur came flying out of seemingly nowhere, skimmed over the top of the van, slid across the floor and deftly tripped the akuma over, causing Toothache to fall head over heels. He wasn’t the only one. In fact, the revelation that he’d just seen his Lady in action again briefly expunged all thoughts of action from Adrien’s mind. It was her, it was _her_ , and even from this distance he could see the way she gracefully returned to her feet in one smooth motion and smirked ever so slightly at her success, the way her ocean blue eyes blazed with this internal fire, the way everyone cowering behind makeshift barricades by the surrounding buildings seemed to light up with hope and relief. This was the heroine of Paris, the one and only - not a billboard, not a television report, not some grainy footage posted online, but the real thing in the flesh and ready to do what she did best: kicking akuma ass.

“Ladybug!” Toothache hissed, scrambling back to his feet and replacing the toothbrush back to his belt where it returned to a regular size. “Are you here for your check up?”

“I think you’ll find that I floss daily.” The superheroine replied without missing a beat before flinging her yo-yo back, only for the akuma to procure another tool from his belt. This time it was a mirror, and the yo-yo dropped as Ladybug instead used her hands to try and shield her eyes from the harsh light being reflected. The disarmament was only temporary, but already Toothache had shot out more toothpaste at her-

No way, not on his watch.

Suddenly, all of Adrien’s uncertainty about taking up the mantle of Chat Noir again, about whether or not his skill had dwindled, about if he could keep up or not, evaporated as all of his thoughts were replaced with the one clear goal that had spurred him on in countless battles. He was leaping off the roof and between them easily, instinct taking over every action, barely feeling the jolt of the impact, hardly considering how he was putting himself in the line of danger. No, this wasn’t Adrien Agreste anymore. This was Chat Noir protecting his Lady, and it was he who was effortlessly spinning his staff to deflect the projectile and causing it to splatter everywhere but on the two of them, he who grinned nonchalantly at the akuma as if his heart wasn’t rushing and pounding at a thousand miles an hour.

“Chat?”

He turned to look at her as she lowered her arms, blinking either in disbelief or simply to adjust her eyes to the regular light. She opened her mouth and looked ready to say something before a great burst of noise erupted from the spectators around. They were no longer cowering now or trying to hide – in fact, they appeared to be practically climbing over each other just to try and get a look or a chance to film the event. There were cheers, wild whoops of joy, clapping that almost seemed deafening, amplified even further by the fact that it was all for _him_.

But he was barely looking at them, not as Ladybug’s confusion shifted to a different emotion together, something that he might only describe as sheer joy. She beamed, brighter than any sun or star, reaching a gloved hand out as if to check that this was a real, tangible being in front of her, and he reached out to grasp it in response-

Except, of course, a loud shriek of annoyance reminded them that there was an akuma on the loose – or, more specifically, standing on a toothpaste tube as its contents flew out at high speeds and propelled him down the street like some kind of minty rocket.

“Greetings can wait.” Ladybug said assertively, although he could detect a disappointed edge to her voice. “We’ve got to catch him quickly before he-“

“Before he brushes and cleans every café, patisserie and sweet shop in Paris?” He cut in, smiling at her matter-of-fact order nonetheless. It was just like her to elevate duty over sentiment, and even more so for this older incarnation. This was Ladybug from the billboard, only infinitely more confident and poised. With this young woman, he doubted that she’d ever really needed his help in that moment. No, this was a Ladybug who had held Paris singlehandedly for almost a decade. She could have handled it – but that didn’t mean the smile she gave him was any less radiant.

That is, before the smile dropped in place of a worried frown. “There’s a bakery only few streets away from here. He’ll be heading there right-“

“Chat Noir! Why did you come back to Paris?”

They both turned to see Alya – who else? – dashing out from shelter, smartphone in hand as she ran across the park towards them and with Nino floundering as he attempted to clamber over the barricade after her. He was about to answer her before Ladybug’s arm wrapped around his waist, cutting off any thoughts he may have been formulating.

“No comment, there’s an akuma to catch.” Ladybug spoke, for he was rendered entirely mute, before latching her yo-yo to a nearby chimney and zipping them away from the scene.

* * *

 

“Are you okay?”

It was a question that needed to be asked, least of all because Adrien was absolutely positive that he would burst if he didn’t release it. Ladybug had been uncharacteristically silent and brisk the whole way, had sprinted off with a nod to follow as soon as they had landed on a rooftop. It seemed to deeply contradict the smile that had spread across her face upon seeing him, and it was something that he couldn’t decipher. Was she angry at him for leaving? For coming back? He’d imagined their reunion to go one of two ways: tearful, grateful embraces or irritated ranting and maybe a slight shoulder punch or two. This was somewhere in the middle and it utterly confounded him.

She turned to look at his expression of concern, and her face softened slightly, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “We’ll talk more later Chat, I promise.” Ladybug spoke almost apologetically before pointing at the bakery in front of them. His eyes widened when he finally came to recognise the building. Its exterior had hardly changed – the same black sign with gold lettering clearly indicated that this was the Dupain-Chengs’. “Toothache will probably come here next – it’s our chance to ambush him.”

He nodded, taking his place next to her. This conjured up memories; like the time they had to fight that akuma which morphed into animals, or when that one kid got way too possessive over puppets. Really, Tom and Sabine must have gotten sick of Ladybug and Chat Noir storming through their house during every other akuma attack.

Without another word Ladybug had rushed in, and he had to follow without further questions. By the time he was in the door, Ladybug was already talking to the two owners.

“-so you need to get away from here quickly while we defeat the akuma. Try to go indoors-“

It was Sabine who noticed him first, and he saw her face completely light up as she nudged her husband’s arm. “Tom, Tom, look, it’s-“

“-it’s Chat Noir, yes, but you’ve got to move fast.” Ladybug cut in, wounding Adrien slightly with her abrasiveness. She seemed edgy and tense as she all but shoved the couple out of the building. Once they were done and the door was closed he simply stood there, head cocked to the side. Truth be told he wanted to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, just to show that he was there for her. If he was to be completely honest, he wanted to run up and embrace her, squeeze her tightly right there and then to smash this barrier that seemed to be between them. And he wanted to kiss her; but no, of that he’d never tell. But she was anxious, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to see what kind of emotional response that would trigger.

“Ladybug,” he started, deciding that cutesy pet names were too risky. He spoke slowly, cautiously, like someone trying not to provoke a wild animal. “If you’re mad you can just say.”

“What?” She said almost in surprise, whipping her head around to fix him with those aquamarine eyes that were sparkling with some strange sentiment. “I – oh god, I’m sorry, I’m not mad at you, it’s just that-“ The superheroine paused for a moment before shaking her head. “I know the owners of this place. They’re good people. I was just worried, I suppose.”

And that was when he took that plunge and placed a hand on her shoulder. It had been years, but he still felt a surge where they made contact, like static electricity, this raw energy that pulsed. She was real. They were reunited at last, two halves of a whole, and once again he got that feeling that had made him realise that what he held was more than just a teenage crush. It was the sense of being near completion, moreso than he’d ever felt, even when he’d had an intact family. Ladybug made him feel almost whole. Not totally, not yet, but she held the promise of fulfilment within her, and every smile she gave him, every giggle at one of his jokes or even when she groaned and rolled her eyes felt like an echo of that promise that left him giddy and intoxicated.

Oh boy, he was whipped.

And then their moment was so rudely interrupted by an akuma (as they so often had been) when a giant splatter of toothpaste covered the window. Before the dentist could burst in Ladybug had grabbed his wrist and yanked him away from the door, pulling her partner to crouch behind the counter. They were hidden a split second before the door was kicked open, colliding with the other side of the counter and spraying out shattered glass.

He was just about to suggest dashing out of cover and fighting head on when he heard a sound that made every nerve scream out in fright – that was the high-pitched whirring of a drill. He’d always eaten only the most nutritious diet, of course, had never needed any fillings or anything of the kind – but the sound of a dental drill was terrifying nonetheless, as was the thought of making any kind of contact with the contraption. So they’d have to be smart. But as much as Adrien liked the idea of an ambush he did not, as a rule, like fighting in such a confined space as this. “Got a plan?” He whispered, hoping sincerely that whatever plan she had involved going outside and avoiding the giant contraption their enemy was currently wielding.

“I think the akuma’s in his name badge.” She mumbled. “Which means we need to get close.”

Getting close to a giant drill sounded almost as fun as getting close to a t-rex.

He watched her bite her lip in thought (and could proudly claim that he was only slightly distracted by the action) before she turned to look at him and whispered with an excited grin, “I think it’s Lucky Charm time.”

His heart fluttered, both at her expression and with a new rush of adrenaline. This was what they did best, and he’d be damned if they weren’t about to totally nail it. Lucky Charm was a fantastic power, and he just couldn’t wait-

When Ladybug ended up with polka-dotted scuba goggles in her hands, he was quickly reminded that it was much, much more mundane than he remembered. He could barely stop himself from laughing, although he was conscious that Toothache was currently in the process of aggressively pulverising every single baked good in the room while unleashing a diatribe about how nobody cared about proper dental care anymore.

“I didn’t know we were taking a dip in the Seine.” He couldn’t help but murmur with a mirthful edge, prompting Ladybug to roll her eyes.

“Of course we’re not. Don’t cats hate water?” She replied, glancing around the room. Then he saw it; that shift of her jaw, that narrowing of her eyes that showed she had a plan. Quickly, her yo-yo zipped to the other side of the room, pulling over a dishcloth, and with some quick fumbling she had the goggles on and the cotton dishcloth tied over her mouth and nose. It looked bizarre, quite frankly, and he could hardly comprehend what kind of crazy plan she must have been cooking up.

_(Ha,_ cooking _up. Yep, still got it.)_

“When I say the word, use cataclysm.” She ordered, words muffled by the fabric. Resisting the urge to burst out laughing he simply nodded in affirmation before she took his breath away in her next move.

That is, took his breath away in a bad way by dashing out of cover and into the kitchen. The akuma spotted her almost instantly.

“Ladybug!” Toothache screeched. “Panic now- this is not a drill!”

She groaned, opening one of the cupboard doors and pulling out several bags of flour. Before he had a moment to register exactly what was happening, she’d tossed them at him with a yell of “Now, Chat!”

He didn’t have to be told twice, and the moment the bags made contact with a swipe of his powered-up claws, they exploded into a giant white cloud that engulfed the room. Suddenly, Adrien understood exactly what her plan had been, for he instantly doubled over coughing, covering his eyes to try and preserve them, and from the sound of it the akuma was doing exactly the same.

But Ladybug had no such weaknesses, and within what must have been less than a minute the unmistakeable chiming of her healing magic was resounding throughout the room, and he opened his eyes to find himself in a miraculously intact and flour-free bakery with one very disorientated dentist collapsed on the floor.

Ladybug was already at his side, consoling him, ensuring that all the damage had been fixed and that it was Hawk Moth responsible. That was a new part of the routine. Usually they simply delivered the victim to the emergency services before leaving – they had so little time as it was that it seemed more practical to deliver them to the experts. But she _was_ an expert now, and seeing the way the disorientated man nodded and agreed, he could see that it wasn’t because the victim didn’t feel responsible. It was because he trusted Ladybug.

And then she turned and fixed her gaze on Adrien, and didn’t waste time before grabbing his wrist and running out of the bakery, zipping onto the rooftops, sprinting along to where the gathering mob of press couldn’t see them. She didn’t let go of him the entire time – it all happened so fast that had it not been for her firm grip he would have been left far behind. It was all so sudden, a rush of exhilaration bubbling up in his chest that almost spilled over into bubbling laughter at the sheer high he felt from this.

He would have fallen flat on his face when she came to an abrupt stop, but she held him up – the moment she stopped she swivelled around to catch him in a fierce hug, so desperate, so tight that they may as well have been fourteen years old again, might as well have just narrowly avoided death, might as well have just been so, so frightened of losing their partner that in the midst of the crisis all consideration of who loved who and what messages they were sending evaporated in the face of their raw gratitude for the others’ continuing presence. They were adults now, and that akuma attack had been defeated with almost shocking ease, but the message was still the same, ringing out loud and clear like the bells of Notre Dame – _I’m glad to have you._

Her miraculous gave a beep, and she went to withdraw; but by then he had been seized by his own emotions (slave as he was to them), unleashing a decade’s worth of pent-up affection in one embrace. He could smell her hair, still neatly in its new braid. Different shampoo, but her scent was still the same, still smelled like home. It would have been embarrassing how he clung to her, had he the faculty to be ashamed. As it stood, that was the very bottom of his list of priorities, the first ten items of which centred on the heroine in his arms.

“It’s good to have you back.” She whispered. They had a few minutes left, not long enough for a proper conversation. One concise sentence said it all.

“I told you I’d return, didn’t I?”

“Are you back for good?”

He briefly considered lying to avoid ruining the moment; or, even better, lying and then changing his arrangements so that he could stay in Paris forever. It would be a tough negotiation progress, but he was sure that he could push it through. But the way that his shoulders tensed betrayed him instantly to her keen observation, and when she stepped back the way she bit her lip made it clear that there was no point in telling a lie, white as it was.

“I’m only here for the week.” He confessed. “Until Sunday.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could make a word his miraculous made an insistent beep. That served as a rude reminder of how their time was limited, and it seemed to change her train of thought. Ladybug instead shook her head and smiled softly, forgiving. “You up for patrol on Thursday?”

She may as well have asked if the sky was blue.

“Of course!” He replied, perhaps a little too eagerly, and she giggled at his enthusiasm. He wasn’t ashamed. Making her laugh had always been one of his primary enjoyments during missions – even if it came with a heavy dose of eye rolling, each chuckle made him feel triumphant.

“Well-“ another beep, this time from her earrings. “I’ve got some friends who are probably wondering where I am, so-“ she held out her fist to him, and although it took a few seconds to understand exactly what she was doing, his face split into a wide grin once he realised.

Long after she’d left, as he ran back towards the café, he remembered that. Even once he’d dropped down into the same alleyway and returned to his civilian form, he felt as though he was basking in his very own kind of sunlight.

“Bien joué.” He whispered to himself giddily. _Bien joué indeed._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fight scenes have always been pretty weak for me but??????????? You're all being so sweet oh my goodness I love you all.  
> Just a heads up, chances are I might not update until June because I'm starting my AS exam period, and since these are what my university offers will be based off I'd rather not bomb them. I'll probably keep writing in my breaks to stop myself going insane through excessive revision, but a shiny, polished chapter might take a while.  
> Good luck to everyone going through exam season (finals in America I think?) right now! x


	4. Raspberry Ripple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's bad luck, and then there's Adrien Agreste.

“Adrien, did you find her?”

The moment that Adrien set foot on the pavement outside the café – now free of toothpaste – he was ambushed, the attack so sudden that he almost cried out in shock. As it was, he simply froze in order to identify the face of a concerned Alya Césaire, her grip on his shoulders strong as iron.

Any normal person would have remembered his initial promise to the woman, or at least had the common sense to utter a bemused ‘what’ in hopes of further direction. Alas, Adrien (lovesick idiot that he was) had his mind in another place (and with someone else) altogether, and it was with his mind stuffed with thoughts of pining that he answered her almost dreamily.

“Yeah.”

“Really?” Alya backed off, glancing around. “Where is she?”

It was at that moment that Adrien’s previously absent rational voice reminded him that she wasn’t talking about Ladybug, and he’d now have to try and navigate the awkward and potentially perilous task of backtracking and confessing that he had no idea where-

“Marinette!” The journalist yelled, frantically scanning the area before fixing her gaze on Adrien. It was an uncomfortably sharp one, tempered by worry to make it worth fearing. “Where is she? Didn’t you find her? You said you were going to find her- hang on, Nino’s looking for her inside, I’ll just go and-“

“Alya!”

Thank goodness, Adrien was saved.

He only had about half a second to process what was going on before he was roughly shoved out of the way and only just managed to retain his balance and see Alya in front of her best friend, arms folded and all external signs of panic that had been so clear just seconds ago now absent in favour of interrogation.

“And where were you?” She demanded. Marinette rubbed the back of her head, grinning bashfully. She looked alright, at least physically – her hair was tousled from its previously neat braid, but otherwise she seemed no more dishevelled than she had been when she first arrived at the café.

“I got trapped in a dumpster.” The young woman explained, her voice tinged with embarrassment. It took all of Adrien’s strength not to burst out laughing.

“A dumpster?” Alya asked, tilting her head to the side. “You don’t-“

“It was a clean dumpster. Practically empty.” Marinette cut in quickly with a giggle, brushing down her spotless outfit. She must have been the luckiest girl in all of Paris, to get herself stuck in a dumpster so clean – he was jealous, personally, of her good fortune.

Alya shook her head. “At least it’s not another toilet. Adrien went looking for you.”

At that Marinette seemed to remember that he was there, turning to look at him wide-eyed and beginning to splutter out an apology before he shook his head.

“No, no, it’s fine! I was concerned, but I – uh, I got stuck in toothpaste.” _Nailed it._

She only released a chuckle or two before covering her mouth to try and stifle the peals of laughter from bubbling out. Then again, he wasn’t the one who’d been trapped in an absurdly clean dumpster of all places. The thought was enough for him to catch on to her contagious chortling, and soon he himself could hardly keep a straight face, so infectious was their shared amusement at the sheer absurdity of each other’s’ explanations. They burst into laughter almost in perfect synchronisation. It wasn’t even that funny, really, but the more Marinette laughed the more Adrien laughed. And it was so effortless, so organic that to resist would have been a pointless endeavour.

“Okay, so there was laughing gas in the dumpster.” Alya deadpanned before almost jumping as a thought seemed to strike her. Her gasp was enough for her two hysterical companions (who’d managed to attract a fair amount of attention) to stop giggling for long enough to look at her and wait for a response. “I need to get this footage back to the station! They’ll have to let me cover the Chat Noir story then, right?”

Before she’d even been given a moment to react, Marinette had been drawn into a tight hug, then released from it a second later; Adrien received a simple shoulder pat as Alya charged into the café, dragged one confounded Nino out and set off running in one whirlwind of a minute. She moved with such haste that Adrien barely had a moment to wave goodbye to his friend before the two had disappeared around the corner.

“Some things never change.”

He turned around to see Marinette adjusting one of her barrettes. “I mean, Alya’s still chasing Ladybug. They let her cover all of the superhero stories – it brings a lot of interest, since the Ladyblog built up a huge reputation.” She finished her fiddling then beamed at him. “She loves it; this Chat Noir story must be huge for her. I mean, not just for her-“

At that point Marinette was interrupted by an insistent chime and, holding out her hand for a pause, began to fervently root around in her bag before procuring a phone. The moment she read the message on her screen, she bit her lip and shook her head; not sadly, for a slight smile tugged at the corner of her lips still. Had Marinette always smiled this much? Stupid question – of course she did. It was one of the reasons why she had always been someone he would want to be around.

“That was Alya.” She explained to him. “She just remembered that she had an appointment with the florist, but obviously she’s busy now, and we need to have an initial appointment and anyway she says that since I changed the bridesmaid dress colours from her original plan – which I totally didn’t – it would be best if I just…“

Speaking of appointments, it dawned upon Adrien that he would be in deep shit.

“…So, uh, sorry, I really wanted to chat more but I’ll have to-“

“I’ll walk with you.”

He’d spoken without thinking. But he didn’t regret saying it, not at all, especially not with the way that Marinette’s face lit up at his offer. Consequences be damned, hers was a smile that he wanted to maximise his time around. He hadn’t seen his classmate for almost a decade, so quite frankly his father could wait for another day. Once upon a time, Adrien would have swum across oceans to avoid disappointing his father, or drowned trying; but it seemed that dark haired blue-eyed girls had a remarkable ability to completely rearrange his priorities. It was actually frightening, the power that they had – but he wasn’t complaining

“Great! It’ll be nice to have some company. Hang on…” once again, Marinette began rooting around in her handbag, which was stamped with the same swirly M that seemed to be synonymous with her. “Aha!” She fished out a purse before looking up at him again. “Ice cream?”

The offer felt ridiculous, even a bit tactless, considering that he had literally almost just been skewered on the drill of an akuma whose despair originated from people eating far too much sugar. Not to mention that he was pretty sure that no strict modelling diet allowed liberal ice cream breaks. Yet it was a warm enough day for ice cream to be acceptable, and he wasn’t about to say no to an offer that was put forward with such genuine enthusiasm, even if it did result in having to queue for a full ten minutes among hyperactive children.

“He came out of nowhere!” One buck-toothed boy was saying to an enthralled girl. “I saw it all. He came out of the sky and saved her!”

“Nonsense.” A taller girl cut in. “Ladybug had it under control. I bet it was all part of her plan.”

“Nuh-uh!” The boy retorted. “I saw it! She looked really really surprised. He was so cool!”

Marinette leaned over to Adrien, lowering her voice just enough for the children to not overhear them. “Looks like Chat Noir’s gained a new generation of fans.”

His heart only stopped momentarily, and it was only out of concern that she was hinting at something – of course, that’s what it was. But Adrien couldn’t deny the feeling of warmth that came from it all. The atmosphere was electric with the buzz of what had just gone down, and it made him feel ecstatic. He’d sorely missed being a hero for many reasons, and now was drunk on the feeling of once again being important to people, being a role model who they trusted and looked up to.

“Do you think she’s right?” He asked her. Marinette’s brow furrowed in conclusion.

“Huh?”

“I mean, do you think Ladybug really needed Chat Noir?”

At that, a smile crept across her face. Not a wide one, but it was soft, although there was an edge to her voice when she spoke, something that he couldn’t place his finger on. “Whether she _needed_ him or not doesn’t matter. They’re a team, right? I’d like to think that he was always going to come back. She must have thought that too.”

* * *

 

“Are you sure you don’t have somewhere to be?” Marinette asked before she shovelled more raspberry ice cream down. The weather was warmer now in the middle of the day, almost on the brink of being unpleasant, and although he had chosen the plainest vanilla cone he could on account of Marinette insisting on paying for him, the treat was welcome nonetheless. The florist was only a short distance away – enough for them to not have to rush, to just stroll and chat and enjoy each other’s company. Their conversation had been mostly insubstantial; she asked question after question about Milan, about fashion week, about what designers were there. So of course, he’d been unprepared for this particular curveball of a query.

“No.” Was his response. Unfortunately, Adrien didn’t manage to nail that all-important timing that could make his lie convincing – it was too quick, too obviously covering up and contrived, as evidenced by the way that Marinette raised an eyebrow.

“What are you missing?”

He avoided her gaze, feigning nonchalance as he shrugged. “Just a short meeting, nothing-“

“- _Please_ don’t tell me that it’s a meeting with your father.”

Adrien couldn’t respond, but his silence said it all, and he heard Marinette sigh. If there was one thing that an intern for Gabriel Agreste learned during their time there, besides wondrous discoveries about how long a human being could last without sleep, food, drink, rest, quiet, a toilet break and other such necessities that his father deemed trivial, it was that you did _not_ , under any circumstances, miss a meeting. All else aside, by missing a meeting one instantly forfeited themselves to having whatever tasks flung in their direction that the company so desired.

“Do you think he’ll accept an akuma attack as an excuse?” She suggested, gesturing with her plastic spoon and creating a magenta splatter across her top, which she hardly seemed to notice. There was a lilt to her words that suggested vain hope, paper-thin as it may have been, that maybe, just maybe, as his son Adrien could be let off the hook.

He almost snorted. “He wouldn’t accept internal bleeding as an excuse.”

She chuckled at that, although weakly. “Sounds like nothing’s changed since my internship. Although I suppose that if you’re running a top fashion line, it’s a necessary evil – doesn’t make it any easier to keep up with, mind you.”

That mention of her internship caused a whole new swathe of questions to crop up. “What are you doing now?”

She paused for more ice cream before answering. “You mean, work-wise? Well, I’m freelance. I do custom design commissions and run an online shop, not much but it’s a way to keep myself designing and working. I actually do a lot of interior design work, since that’s more profitable for me right now. Don’t get me wrong, I still like it but I prefer clothing.” At that point he watched a smile grow across her face, however, as her voice took on an excited edge. “Once the wedding’s over and done with, we’re going to put our savings together, take out a loan if necessary, so I can set up a boutique. Nothing huge, nothing fancy, but a place of my own where I can sell my designs. It’ll be a start.”

And then, of course, Adrien’s extraordinary bad luck and marvellous affinity for the ill-considered and socially disastrous had to rear its ugly head.

“You know, if you want to work for the Agreste line again, I could always put in a word-“

“No.”

Her monosyllabic, flat-out response should have signalled a clear end to the line of inquiry. But to Adrien it seemed to be politeness. Of course, Marinette would hate nothing more than to consider herself an inconvenience. That was just who she was, she was too courteous for her own good in that respect.

So he persevered, fool that he was. “No, everyone would be really glad to have you back, my father especially, and it would be a quicker leg up-“

“I said no, Adrien.”

And there it was. Icy, sharp, slicing through the casual comfort and leaving painful awkwardness in its wake. Marinette didn’t look at him, purposefully, was being distracted by the ice cream staining her top. It cut through to the core of the issue to leave it woefully exposed. Of _course_ Marinette didn’t want to work for the Agreste line again. He of all people should have known that, considering that he’d been the one to ruin it for her – it had been hanging on his mind before seeing her again. With her cheerful, friendly welcome, he had let it slip away from his immediate thoughts, assumed that it had dissolved and been forgotten. Well, more fool him. The matter may not have been in the forefront, but it loitered at the sidelines, present but nevertheless unobtrusive until he had dragged it back into the picture.

Now there was silence. A chasm of silence. Nine years changed a lot of things. It had changed almost everything, but only a fool would think that their mistakes would be so easily buried.

“I think you should go to that meeting.” Marinette finally spoke. Her voice was, by her standards, curt. “Maybe you’ll be able to catch the end.”

It wasn’t a subtle hint, but considering the supreme density that he’d just demonstrated it was only to be expected. At least she offered an escape window for him, since he’d been preoccupied by wishing with all his heart to just melt into the pavement so as to avoid digging himself into a deeper grave. _Cause of death: extreme faux pas._

“Oh, uh yeah. Probably. You sure you-“

“-Yeah, yeah, I can go to the florist on my own.”

There was silence again before she nodded as some kind of affirmation, murmured a goodbye and turned on her heel to leave.

He swallowed. Adrien couldn’t let their meeting end on such a painful note. It wasn’t fair, especially not to her. So he mustered himself before speaking again, this time with more cheer. “It’s been really nice seeing you again – and, uh, congratulations.”

Marinette stopped to look over her shoulder, and for a dreadful moment he thought she might keep on walking. But then her face stretched out into that grin again. It was the same one she’d greeted him with in the café, one that was so effortlessly bright that it was summer in a smile, although this time it felt different. It was too soon for that. It wasn’t the same, it felt like it was trying to comfort him. “You too, it’s really- wait, wait, hang on!”

She instantly began rifling through her bag as she walked back to him, and before he was quite aware of what was happening she’d procured a pen. “Let me give you my number – Alya forced me to not take commissions this week so I’m fairly free, although I’ve still got some work to do, in case you need anything or want help with whatever.” Even before she’d finished speaking, he’d held out his hand and she’d scribbled on it. The moment she was done it was one more bright smile, a glance at her watch and the realisation that she was going to be late, and a wave as she dashed around the corner, and Marinette was gone.

Despite all of her efforts to depart on a positive note, however, Adrien still felt like kicking himself for his tactlessness. Had he really become so complacent that he’d forgotten that Marinette had every reason to resent him? Were she possessed of a less amiable and all-loving soul, he probably wouldn’t have even been invited to her wedding. And yet he’d blundered headfirst into a disastrous conversation by dredging up the worst incident that he could have.

Plagg took the opportunity to fly out of his shirt collar again, his usually sardonic expression somewhere between amusement and annoyance. “I wish I could say that I’m surprised, but honestly, the only surprise is that you didn’t screw it up earlier.”

“Ha, ha.” Adrien muttered under his breath, prompting his kwami to yawn.

“Eh, whatever. I sure hope you’re not actually going to that meeting – I’m hungry and you’ve got no camembert left!”

The model shook his head. His thoughts were far too scattered and distracted to endure even five minutes of a meeting, and especially not so much of a minute of his father berating him for his non-attendance. No, that could wait until tomorrow. For now half his mind was nine years in the past, the other half was failing to drag its twin back to the present, and his heart was somewhere on the rooftops of Paris.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all again! Exams are over and I'm moderately free!  
> This was a mostly uneventful chapter, but it's mainly a transition to the next chapter (which I've been looking forward to writing for literally ages). Hopefully that one will be out sooner rather than later!


	5. North Star

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Backstory on what exactly went down between Adrien and Marinette aka. self-indulgent relationship development writing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember when I said that this would only be around 5 chapters?  
> Yeah, not happening.

Adrien couldn’t tell you when he’d first started to look at Marinette differently from the rest.

(Because it wasn’t a crush, no, it wasn’t a crush.)

Maybe it had started at the very beginning, under that umbrella, when she forgave him and he felt his heart soar to know that he’d made a new friend. Or perhaps even before that, because she refused to excuse him solely based on his reputation as a model, setting herself apart from all the total strangers of that day who had asked him to hang out with them and sign autographs – although that alone couldn’t have been the reason, since Alya was also scornful. But it was a contributing factor, he thought. In retrospect, it had started as early as that.

There wasn’t really any grand or drastic event that drew his attention towards her. Just a few incidents here and there, in moments when she showed herself to be a girl who didn’t trip over herself trying to articulate a single sentence. Many times, she had stood up to Chloé, like some defiant class champion. That time when she went out of her way to make sure Juleka got to be in a class photo. The trainwreck of a date when Adrien had tried to set her up with Nino. Adrien wished that he’d been paying closer attention to her then, had considered her as more than just a classmate – he couldn’t stand to think of how much might have escaped him, how much he might have missed.

Like two nearly parallel lines, his attention gradually shifted closer to her, inch by painstaking inch. It was such a slow development that he’d hardly realised it was happening until she was seated in the row in front of him during their third year in school together, and he noticed that his gaze was continually drifting towards her; that during every debate and discussion, he just couldn’t help but glance at her to gauge her opinion; that every time project partners were assigned, even though he definitely wanted to work with Nino, there was a part of him that confessed to itself that he was fond of the idea of working with her. It wasn’t even an emotional attachment, like the one he had to Ladybug – it was only a logical conclusion, perhaps born of fascination. Marinette was a kind, friendly, hard working girl, popular among the majority of their classmates. Anyone else would take note of her.

Except it all snowballed from there. Because the more that Adrien paid attention to Marinette and endeavoured to be near her, the more and more that he noticed which he would have otherwise missed completely and never had the pleasure of knowing. As well as giving Nathanaël a birthday gift with the rest of the class, she loitered at the end to give him a second gift that she had made herself, since she hadn’t done so the previous year.

Another day, Max managed to barely scrape a pass on a French Literature exam. It had crushed the guy – even though it was a grade that many of the class would have classed as satisfactory, his own high standards meant that he could hardly contain his tears, didn’t even speak to anyone for the rest of his day, instead even scuttling away from Kim the moment the bell rang.

The next morning, Adrien saw Marinette discreetly leave a chocolate éclair on the boy’s desk. He watched Max pick it up, watched him burst into a smile that was a far cry from his mopey state earlier. She never said anything about it, mind, but she was glowing with positivity for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

There were probably countless acts of selfless kindness from Marinette that Adrien never saw, or at least was never looking closely enough to notice. He knew she wasn’t perfect; she could be snappy, short-tempered and scatterbrained, but there was only one other girl he knew who was so wholeheartedly invested in helping others. And the greatest example of this was one he would have never even been aware of, were it not for Nino’s foghorn of a voice.

It was once again time for parents to come in to talk about their jobs; and, once again, time for Gabriel Agreste to be a colossal disappointment of a parent. Adrien had mentioned it to him approximately once, then decided never to raise the subject again when his father had indicated that he might send Nathalie as his proxy. It was far better to have no father standing in front of the class. Still, on the morning he found himself flustered and embarrassed before class had even begun. The thought of going parentless for another year was mortifying, if only because he knew that everyone would be irritated or, worse still, everyone would pity him.

He was so preoccupied with his own worrying that he barely even looked up during the talks until there was a notable change of pace.

“Marinette, are either of your parents coming?”

His head snapped up, fixing his gaze on Marinette, who was biting her lip and staring at the small tray of Madeleines on her desk. He barely knew Tom and Sabine, but from what he had seen of them, he could say with confidence that they would have run through brick walls to avoid letting their daughter down. So where could they have been?

“They, uh, had a huge order at the bakery. A wedding. So they had to stay to get everything done.” She explained bashfully. “But I did make these using our own special secret recipe!”

And that was that. Biscuits were nibbled and the day moved hastily along. When it came to Adrien, he just had to mumble the word “busy” for Bustier to frown momentarily before carrying on to have a lengthy lecture from Mr. Kubdel on the educational benefits of museums. In fact, Adrien wouldn’t have thought any more on the matter had he not overheard Nino talking to Alya as they all went out for lunch.

“Jeez, is Tom ill or something?”

“Nino-“ Alya sighed. Thankful for the stealth skills he had picked up by necessity during his time as Chat Noir, Adrien rounded a corner so as to hear them from the other side of the lockers. Was Marinette’s father ill? That would explain his absence, but why did she lie then?

“I mean, that dude’s totally not the kind of guy to just miss-“

“Shush!” the young journalist had hissed. “It’s nothing to do with him. She didn’t even tell him that it was happening.”

“Wha-“ (here, Nino’s voice was cut off by _something_ ).

“Look, if I tell you will you _please_ not talk about it so loud that they’ll hear it in Marseille?” The boy must have nodded, because she continued. “She did it for Adrien, okay?”

Now that was a shock. Adrien had to smack a hand over his own mouth to prevent himself from giving his position away. For him? Why had she even done that? Did he ever ask her to do that? Did he not remember?

Thankfully, Adrien wasn’t the only one who asked Alya for further explanation, and she delivered.

“She felt really bad that he was the only one without a parent there last year, so she didn’t tell her own. She just didn’t want him to be the odd one out, and you know that girl’s too much of a sucker for her own good.”

* * *

 

That had been the point where he knew he liked Marinette more than one tended to feel towards one’s classmates, but it wasn’t an isolated case. Every small action he caught sight of increased the feeling, and it grew and flourished and thrived over time, an accumulation of kindness that endeared him more and more towards her. That is not to say that this feeling was one of love, or even infatuation – he had all of his heart pinned on Ladybug, too much to use its energy on anyone else – but it did mean that Marinette began to occupy a unique position in his life.

The irony was that Adrien wasn’t even aware of this. It wasn’t something that he consciously considered; only now could he see the progression in retrospect. No, he was barely aware that he was completely and utterly doomed until the realisation hit him all at once when they were seventeen.

Theirs was a difficult class, no doubt about it – conflicting personalities clashing left right and centre was usually tumultuous enough for any school, but having Chloé Bourgeois in the mix only magnified the chaos tenfold. Alya and Nino were almost always on their phones; Kim seemed to thrive off trying to annoy his classmates; Nathanaël usually didn’t listen to more than ten minutes of the lesson at best; Marinette and Adrien’s attendance was quite frankly appalling (for legitimate reasons on his part and questionable ones on hers). Not to mention that any drama could turn a student into a city-wrecking monster. Really, Caline Bustier must have had the patience of a saint to not be akumatised.

Unfortunately, their Lycée’s form teacher was not made of so strong a mettle, or was simply just unprepared for what they brought. Monsieur Bouchard started off the school year fresh-faced and eager to teach, not anticipating that his students weren’t quite so passionate about mathematics as he was. They then proceeded to thoroughly break the poor man’s optimism so that, by Christmas, he seemed just about ready to retire early. All it took was one threat of a call to Chloé’s father because he had the audacity to request that she handed her homework in, and a freshly transformed Bouchard was tearing the classroom apart as Miscalculate.

The incident stood out to Adrien because, as the students escaped the classroom and attempted to barricade the akuma in, he looked around and realised, to his horror, that Marinette wasn’t among their number. The shock and panic that seized him was surprisingly frantic, like his heart simultaneously stopped and beat at five hundred miles an hour. Like his stomach had been ripped out of him, leaving him with a hollow cavity filled with nothing but terror at the realisation of what he stood to lose. He even started trying to dismantle the barrier in case Marinette was shut in with Miscalculate, before Plagg reminded him that he had a superhero form.

He couldn’t find her throughout the whole incident. Ladybug appeared soon after, and one smashed protractor later the attack was easily resolved, but he couldn’t focus, almost got impaled by compasses, could hardly control his own limbs. The moment that the school was fixed and he had left to detransform, he continued combing the building for her.

She was back in the classroom after lunch, as if she had never gone missing. It wasn’t like people being absent during akuma attacks was a new thing, so why had he panicked? That question was one that he mulled over for a full week before he finally accepted the truth; he liked Marinette. Possibly even had a crush on her (although he’d never call it that).

That should have been impossible, since he knew that Ladybug was the love of his life. But it was what it was, no way to deny it.

* * *

 

On the whole, Adrien managed to keep his feelings towards Marinette lowkey. Partly because he knew they were completely unrequited; Marinette was so kind to everyone around her that nothing could be taken as an indication that he was any different. Yet this was also a technique for self-preservation. He was already head over heels with one girl that would never like him back, so there was no constructive use in indulging in his onesided feelings for another and allowing them to grow into the kind of heart-consuming entity that was his love for Ladybug. Adrien was a coward about it, he supposed – he decided to just ignore the feeling, hope it would go away and he didn’t have to deal with these conflicting and downright confusing emotions. It even worked, on the whole, for about a year.

Then it didn’t.

The Agreste line teen summer internship was a very, very prestigious programme. Teenagers from across France applied, and only ten were accepted; of them, two would receive partially-subsidised places at ESMOD. One would have their place entirely subsidised by the Agreste line, under the condition that they worked for the company for at least three years post-graduation. It was the kind of mouth-watering opportunity that aspiring fashion designers dreamed of, prepared their applications for months before they opened, worked themselves to the point of exhaustion for.

And lo and behold, who should be one of the lucky ten but Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

In hindsight, it was only to be expected – Marinette was talented and a hard worker, so for her to have not won a place would have almost been unfair (in Adrien’s view). In any case, it was simultaneously the best and the worst possible situation for Adrien to find himself in: an entire summer with Marinette. That more than compensated for the absurd number of photoshoots his father had scheduled for him now there wasn’t the pesky element of education to otherwise occupy his son.

During her induction week, Adrien and Marinette crossed each other in the corridor a few times. She was always in a rush, but by the end of the week they managed to greet each other and smile without one of them tripping over. That was safe, that was acceptable, that wasn’t dangerous in the slightest.

Having Marinette at the sidelines during his photoshoots? Now that was _lethal_. Because every time they made eye contact while she was delivering coffee or a message and he was meant to be posing, his smile became a little bit more genuine; and whenever she smiled back, he was glowing. Once she gave him a thumbs up and the photographer actually asked him to tone it down and look more serious.

Fortunately for Adrien, Marinette soon emerged as the darling of the internship programme. First of all, she was humble, which was more than could be said for many of the other successful applicants who seemed to believe that the subsidised placement was already theirs. She may have been clumsy, somewhat awkward and scatterbrained, but she was by far one of the hardest working people in the company, and that included some of the paid designers; every errand, she ran to the best of her ability; every extra opportunity, however difficult or straining, she undertook. This did not go unnoticed, least of all by Gabriel, and with a few words to Nathalie he made sure that Marinette, when she wasn’t engaged elsewhere, was on set at photoshoots.

Gradually, the proximity managed to melt away the awkwardness between the two. Marinette and Adrien were eighteen by then - although Adrien would be lying if he claimed that he felt like an adult – and slowly, ever so slowly, their teen bashfulness gave way to friendship. It became normal for her to adjust his outfit and fit it to him with only minimal blushing on either end; she’d make sure to always slip him an extra snack from her parents’ bakery when his father wasn’t looking, and he’d check with Nathalie to make sure that she actually _was_ getting the breaks that Gabriel seemed to consider unnecessary for people who’d otherwise be working for several hours straight. The development was comfortable, organic, and by the end of Marinette’s fourth week on the six week programme, he was well and truly whipped.

Because Marinette was pretty. God, she was adorable. A wink when he happened to look in through the window when she was supposed to be focussed on sewing? Devastating. A wave? Ruinous. A giggle? Apocalyptic. She wasn’t Ladybug, she wasn’t about to save Paris anytime soon, but he’d be damned if she wasn’t the sweetest girl in the city.

So everything was going well. They were friends; they could hold conversations (he even had her number!); the progression was smooth and the presence of Marinette actually did the impossible in that it made being a model _fun_.

Which, of course, meant that Adrien would inevitably screw the whole thing up sooner or later.

* * *

 

Turning points were thrilling. The moment when the lucky charm gamble paid off; the moment when he was first tangled up with his lady; the moment when he first walked through the threshold of a public school.

The moment when Adrien found himself alone in a storage closet with Marinette.

His motives in coming in after her had been gentlemanly and innocent enough; he’d heard the crash as the ever-clumsy girl accidentally scattered a box’s worth of archived designs all across the floor, and had gone in to help her. She’d been crawling around the floor, apologising profoundly to the pages as she snatched them, but had managed to gather them all together quickly enough for his presence to be obsolete.

So he’d done the polite thing and offered a hand to help her up; he’d just not anticipated the electric spark of feeling that shot up his arm and straight to his chest the moment her palm met his, one that somehow winded him entirely. He didn’t let go, even after she was on her feet, and neither did she try to remove herself from his grasp.

Marinette murmured a thank you before she did something absolutely catastrophic to his wavering restraint – she squeezed his hand, and he almost melted. They should have separated by now; there was no need. But something was crackling in the air, and that was when he began to feel the pull. It was the same he’d felt with Ladybug as she stood on the Eiffel Tower and declared war on Hawk Moth – the feeling of this being right. A connection forming.

And it didn’t make sense because he didn’t love her, it was only a crush, something that would fizzle away in time. Radiant, like a firework, but only ever temporary. Yet no matter how much he told himself that, he could only look at her eyes: sapphire, ocean, forget-me-not July sky. In the dim light of the closet, flickering and failing with a low hum, they seemed the brightest presence in the room, one he could not tear himself away from.

A sound informed them that she’d just let the papers slip out of her hand. Neither of them made a move to pick them up, but the fear that she might incited Adrien with a kick of urgency. Seeing her turn to look – turning those eyes away from him, depriving him of the infinite blue – he gently tugged on her arm, so that she faced him again, unconsciously shuffling closer.

Something crackled in the air between them, energy, excitement, an all too familiar thrill that started a tornado in his chest.

“Marinette… uh, can I…?”

He left it hanging in the air there, hardly able to articulate his request – he’d barely managed to utter those few words. But the message was clear, somehow. The girl who’d struggled to converse with him was now one he could talk to wordlessly, and that felt good, that felt fantastic. Marinette nodded before her eyes fluttered closed as she tilted her head up. Dark eyelashes tapped against pale cheekbones. How had he never noticed her eyelashes before? How much of Marinette did he not notice until recently? How much of her remained to be discovered?

Adrien was about five inches away from kissing her (and he was so, so close, he could smell her peach lip balm) when his heart stopped him.

Maybe it was a trick of the light, or it was his own haywire emotions, but in that moment another dark-haired girl surfaced in his mind, and he froze.

He and Ladybug were not a couple. She had made that clear, in a way that was borderline painful, on several occasions. You could not, by definition, cheat on someone who you weren’t even a couple with. How did he know she didn’t already have a significant other as a civilian? There were no ties, no strings. Being crime fighting partners had no romantic correlation, and yet –

\- and yet to kiss Marinette now would be to admit to himself that there wasn’t any chance. It would be waving a white flag to the world and surrendering his love for Ladybug, betraying the feeling he had been nurturing and fighting for the sake of for four years. Was he really ready to do that? Throw it away and start anew?

In the dim light, Marinette almost looked like her, and that didn’t make the choice any easier. He’d given into an impulse and now didn’t have the courage to see it through. Or did he? It would be easy, so easy, she was only inches away. Why throw his feelings to the wind in the hope that one day they would reach his Lady and be reciprocated? No, not his lady. She wasn’t his, and maybe it was time that he wasn’t hers.

The girl was staying perfectly still. He could see her face beginning to fluster now. She was keeping her eyes shut. Even her hand, still in his, was motionless as if it were a mannequin’s. Act now. He had to act fast before the opportunity was lost forever.

He closed his eyes and leaned forward -

then he withdrew his hand and fled the closet, silently cursing himself the whole way.

* * *

 

When he saw Marinette a few hours later, she smiled at him.

It wasn’t her sunbeam smile.

* * *

 

He only heard the news secondhand the next day, as he was walking down the corridor and two of the interns passed him, coffee cups in hand. So preoccupied was he with his own thoughts that he hardly tuned in to what they were saying until one sentence stopped him on his tracks.

“Well, now that Marinette’s dropped I might have a chance.”

“Wait, Marinette’s dropped? Dropped from the programme, you mean?”

“Yeah! She quit.”

Slowly, he turned to look at them – but they were rounding a corner. Despite the fact that he had a fitting to go to, he pivoted on his heel and followed, ears straining to hear what they were saying.

“No way! Did the stress get her?”

“Well I was talking to Jules who heard from Camille, who was delivering some files to Sancoeur and overheard her talking to Monsieur Agreste himself, who was complaining to her about it.” The first intern replied, taking a sip of her coffee.

“And?”

“Well, apparently, she said something about not wanting to be bound to the company; that she was very grateful for the opportunity but she wanted to pursue her own creative path independently. Or something like that. It wasn’t exactly verbatim.”

“Well, that’s good news for us then, isn’t it?”

Her companion shrugged. “They’re both in a foul mood about it. I’d watch your step. Marinette was his personal favourite, you know.”

“Because she kissed up to his son, you mean?”

It took all of Adrien’s strength not to rip her coffee out of her hand and fling it across the corridor (or, preferably, in his own face).

(Fortunately, he did neither.)

(But only just,)

* * *

 

He meant to talk to Marinette about it, he really did, but he couldn’t. It was that week that his father announced that the head of the Milanese branch was retiring and that his son would be taking over the position (which, incidentally, was the first Adrien had heard of the whole affair). Nino had meant to throw a goodbye party for him, but everyone was in different places with different commitments and Adrien was on a plane before he really knew what was happening.

She’d get over it, right? It wasn’t like she’d really liked him anyway. He’d been a jerk, he’d unintentionally made a mockery of her. But Marinette was strong and cheerful and she shone like the North star, forever bright and forever resilient. She’d move on. She’d be fine.

And Adrien? Well, it had only ever been a crush. Nothing more.


End file.
